


My Young Obsession

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Age Difference, Drugs, M/M, Masterbation, male prostitute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Greg encounters a young Sherlock





	My Young Obsession

Oh my, this god-like creature! Yes, I mean god!

The young man in front of me looks like a Grecian god. Slim, carved cheekbones, bluish-hazel eyes and a head of dark curls that won't be tamed.

* * *

But, he's a drug addict.

* * *

As a detective with the police force, I have just this evening taken him out of a drug bust from a stinking hole of an abandoned house. Into my car, over the objection of the other cops and now in my office, lying on my couch passed out.

Scruffy unshaven, dirty, his hair a tangled mess, clothes looking damn expensive but with a coating of grime. 

* * *

I can't for the life of me send him to one of the rehab centers. He'll wind up being someone's girlfriend, which has probably happened to him already.

I sit in my chair, watching this gorgeous man as his chest, breathes in and out. 

* * *

It's been hours seated, a drink of whiskey in hand, sipping at it, wondering what to do with this person. Wondering why I care so much. Why I took him, of all people, out of the doss house and into my care.

* * *

I can't bring him into my house. Carol would have a fit. A druggie.

* * *

We have a cottage in the country. I could take him there. Clean him up, give him a chance.

* * *

I'll bring him there, yes, that's what I'll do.

I'll call Carol, my wife and tell her I'll be away on a case for a few days.

* * *

After the phone call I half drag him, carry him to my car and off to the small cottage we have outside of the city.

* * *

He's not had too much cocaine I assume, so the decompression time should be short.

Once in the cottage I've undressed him down to his shorts, placed him on my bed until he awakens. I sleep on the sofa.

* * *

Very early in the morning I'm aroused to movement in the living room. There he is, dressed, looking confused.

          "Where am I? Who are you and how did I-?"

          "I'm Detective Greg Lestrade. There was a drug bust at the house you were at last night-"

          "And you brought me here, let me guess, to your place, for what- Aha!"

He starts to undo his zipper and I put out my hand in objection.

          "No, no not for sex. I thought you deserved to-"

He heads straight for the door, and I plummet after him, pushing him, taking him down on the floor, away from the door. It's easy to do, his body still weak. 

          "You're not going anywhere but here until you fully recover."

          "And then you want sex?" his face a mask as he says this.

* * *

Oh, yes, he's been used. Many times, I imagine. That's how he gets his high. Sex for drugs.

* * *

Boldly I grab his arm and set him on the sofa.

* * *

          "My job is to see you healthy. Your job is to get healthy."

Turning his head to the side he puzzles it out. You can see the motion of his thought process.

* * *

          "Something is missing here. What?"

          "You, whoever you are, need redemption. You deserve a chance-"

Standing up, wide-eyed, pointing the finger at me,"And you're going to be my savior?"

That was the most mocking of speeches I've heard in a long time.

* * *

          "Don't question me because I don't know the answer myself. Just thank me for being there to pull you out."

          "Sherlock is my name. And whatever sick game you're playing at, I'll take it for now. I'm available for whatever."

* * *

Horrified that he thinks that's what I want I let him shower and shave while I wash his clothes.

* * *

He returns to the living room, a sheet wrapped around him, his curls dripping water looking like silver drops.

* * *

Finding myself enthralled, I turn my head away, turn on the telly and sit and watch anything that is on at the moment.

* * *

He follows suit and nothing is said the rest of the day and even into the evening meal.

* * *

Every discussion is kept to a minimum. He doesn't like talking. I watch over him as if he were made of cotton fluff.

* * *

My fascination with this enchanting creature keeps growing. I know nothing about him. Even his last name is a mystery until I do a Google search.

After all, how many Sherlock names can there be?

* * *

He's from a prominent family, an older brother invested in government politics.

But as for him, not much. He's dropped out of university after showing brilliance that reflected in his levels.

* * *

Sherlock has no evidence of being taken into police custody, but that's impossible!

Sure he's been in more than once. I have the feeling that older brother had a hand in keeping him off the records.

* * *

Every once in awhile I catch a bewildered glance or a half-smile. He's not sure what he's doing here. Or why I'm doing this.

* * *

He walks into the room each time, and my heart takes off. He talks, and I stop, my breath short.

* * *

Am I falling for this man?

What is going on?

He becoming my drug, my obsession.

* * *

All I see in front of me is him.

* * *

I sit and stare for hours, my breath matching his, lightly touching his face, his hair, as he sleeps.

* * *

The fourth morning I walk into the bedroom to check on him, as I always do.

Sleeping in his shorts, on his back, sheets around his ankles. body splayed out.

Sitting in the chair watching him, the urge comes over me.

I place my hand down my PJs, moving, caressing my cock.

A slight moan escapes my mouth. I want to touch him, feel him.

* * *

Suddenly his hand reaches down, shifts under his shorts and mimics me.

Oh fuck, he knows I'm here! 

His hand pushes the fabric down, and his glorious cock is on display. I come in an instant.

* * *

With an intake of breath and springing up, I'm out of the room.

* * *

In the kitchen making bacon and eggs, I'm holding the pan in one hand when he comes in, slumps against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. Robe tied loosely around him.

* * *

          "You're no different from the others. You desire me, want sex."

Slamming the pan down on the edge of the counter, my voice furious, gulping down quickly.

Furious at who? At him, finding me out? At myself for being so transparent?

* * *

          "No, no. I have a wife, two daughters and a career. I'm a respectable man. "

          "Respectable indeed! Taking me in. Against all the rules."

* * *

He laughs, placing his hands over his head, showing off the little piece of his chest I can see.

Back down to inspecting the pan with the food, I dole it out as I talk, not looking his way.

          "I want whats best for you. And being on cocaine is not. That's all I could want for you. A good life"

          "For a few dollars you can have me, you know. I perform whatever you wish. Fellatio, rimming-"

          "Stop that. Damnation! I don't want your body.You're worth more than a shag."

* * *

          "You're talking like a preacher. All kindness. From the bottom of your heart. Fuck that. Admit you're sexually attracted to me. What's holding you back? No religion. Not your marriage. You're scared. Shitting scared."

Lifting himself off the doorframe he snorts and walks away.

          "Come eat breakfast," yelling after him, my voice hoarse.

* * *

Each day he recovers more. Each day I admire his wit, his intelligence. He doesn't talk much, but when he does he leaves me in the dust.

* * *

I've formulated a plan for him.

* * *

The day of leaving the cottage I give him my idea, my thoughts for his future.

* * *

          "You're mind is so brilliant, so tuned into the world. I could use a man with the ability to analyze crimes as you do. Stay away from any stimulant, and you'll be able to assist me in my work. What do you think about that?"

          "Appears to be a sound idea."

* * *

The drive back to London is silent. He goes to his flat, and I return to my place with Carol.

* * *

I've been married for twelve years to Carol. 

We met young, married quickly had two children, girls in rapid order. I'm thirty-four, keeping my weight off, hoping to make Detective Inspector at some point before long.

Carol and I have wandered apart, each having our friends and lives. 

Sex is limited now but the few times we wind up having intercourse, I see him under me, picture my hands running through his curls instead of Carols.

* * *

I have a dilemma. I can't keep him out of my head. Out of my mind. And, out of my cock.

* * *

I've had encounters with men when in police school and none of them were that satisfying. Curiosity mostly.

* * *

This takes it all. Even when dating Carol I was never so obsessed with her.

* * *

I have visions of him in the cottage, wandering around draped in only a sheet. I wanted to strip him of it, lay him on the floor and-.

* * *

All this is ridiculous I know. He pursues me in my every moment.

* * *

I see him in every corner, hoping to walk into him. I hang out in the local pubs, cafes by his flat. Hoping he'll wander in.

* * *

So distracted am I that I can't think of anything else. My work suffers. My life suffers.

* * *

I do call him in for cases, and most of the time I can remove myself before he shows, letting him work with my associates.

* * *

How I want to be in his presence! Listen to the low timbre of his baritone voice!

* * *

On the few occasions, when he is there for a case with me I keep my eyes and hands diverted from him.

Oh, my lord, how I want to drag his ass over to a wall, to push into him!

* * *

One day, after everyone has cleaned up the site of a murder I'm left in the room alone with Sherlock.

Leaning in toward me before I can react he kisses me. Oh, just a light touch of the lips.

I grab his shirt, pull him toward me, bite his lip and thrust my tongue into his mouth.

My groans and the overpowering urge hits me. My body is flush against his, my thigh between his legs.

He moans, moves away, and there's the telltale sign, his trousers mimicking mine.

          "Damn you," I counter as he takes off, leaving me alone, white-knuckled, running my hands through my hair.

* * *

I don't see or hear from him, and each day I pick up my mobile to call or text and thrust it back into my pocket.

* * *

          "Greg what the hell is wrong with you? I've been talking for minutes, and you haven't recognized anything I've said," Carol inquires.

          " I'm sorry. Work you know."

          "Be honest. Is there a woman?"

          "No, no."

* * *

At least I can answer that honestly.

* * *

Working late, trying to concentrate, everyone, those at work and Carol at home, is noticing something is the matter with me.

* * *

I know where he lives. 

The urge overtakes me, and I'm driving past almost every night, stopping, watching his window.

Every time I see him move into view, my heart races, just to glimpse him.

* * *

One night, so hung up on him, sitting in my car, while across from his flat I loosen my zipper. My hand goes into my pants, and while looking into his window, I'm growing hard. My cock in hand I groan, and with my hips bucking up I come. My hand and pants soaked with my liquid.

There's a text immediately, and I pick up my mobile, look at it and slam it on the seat.

          _Greg, I know you're sitting outside in your car. Come up. Let me-_

Fucking hell! He's spotted me! I can't answer, start the car and drive off.

* * *

My mind wanders no matter where I am.

* * *

And it deviates to Sherlock. Sherlock in bed, Sherlock naked. Sherlock in my office on my desk. Sherlock bent over my kitchen table. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.

* * *

The charade continues for weeks, getting worse and worse.

* * *

At the station, Sally, my assistant steps into my office and shuts the door with determination.

* * *

Sitting down across from my desk she crosses her legs and, with her mouth set in a hard line, begins to speak.

          "Greg Lestrade, this is enough! All of us have seen you over the last weeks. When Sherlock is around you act as a man possessed. You're a lion stalking a lioness."

I start to open my mouth when she stops me with a wave of her hand and leans forward to me.

          "No, don't even try to interrupt me. What the hell is happening? He's a fucking kid, for Christ's sake! He consumes you. Your work has suffered and, to make matters worse, I've had a few phone calls from Carol asking that your workload should be lightened."

* * *

Head down, fighting back the tears, my face contorted into misery, I don't know what to say.

          "Tell me the truth. I won't convey it to anyone else. Do you or have you-?"

Looking at Sally, I rub the back of my neck, my breathing shallow, and suddenly bang the desk with my fist.

          "Damn, fuck! Yes, yes, I want to fuck him. Is that what you want to hear? "

          "Don't get angry with me. I'm trying to find out what's going on and if I can help you."

          "What's going on? What's going on you ask? I'm fucking shit so crazed over him. And no, damn it, no, I haven't done anything. But-."

I break down in tears, my head goes down on the desk, my fists balled, hitting the wood desk.

* * *

Sally stands to go to my side, brushing my hair, shushing me.

* * *

          "Greg, Greg, calm down. Let's talk about this."

* * *

She pulls out a handkerchief, my head comes up, and I dry my eyes.

* * *

Her support is what I want. Someone to talk to, to help me.

Back in her chair Sally is quiet, her face deep in thought.

* * *

          "It almost seems like you have two choices, Greg. One- get away from here. Go on vacation, with or without Carol. And, the other- go to Sherlock, tell him and see what he wants. Maybe he feels the same."

          "Can't do that. He'll turn me down."

* * *

          "Hey, you never know. And yes, there is that big age difference, and people will talk. But he is of age." Pausing to let both of us have a chance to think I answer her.

          "I'm not sure it's love. Lust, yes."

          "You've told me yourself you had a man once. So what if it's only lust. What can you lose? He'll turn away in disgust?"

          "Are you telling me to-?"

Nodding her head she gives an enigmatic smile, a go-ahead look stands, and departs from the office, closing the door softly behind her.

* * *

Back and forth, back and forth go my emotions. No, it's not right. Yes I have to try.

I know that Sally is keeping everyone away from my office. Giving me time.

My mobile out of my pocket and before I can stop myself, I send a text.

          _Sherlock, can I come to your flat_

          _Now is fine SH_

My hands shake, and it's hard for me to use it again.

          _Carol, going out with the boys for drinks_

          _Fine. Do what you want. I don't care_

I wince at that, shove my mobile in my trouser pocket, stand, take my coat a go out the door.

Sally looks at me, I bite my lip but indicate with a movement of my head that I'm going to Sherlock.

A bright smile lights her face and she whispers, "good luck."

* * *

Closing the car door, I stand on the pavement, hands in pockets, and oscillate. Do I or don't I. Will he or won't he.

The front door opens, and there he stands, the object of this wavering.

* * *

          " Trying to decide whether to come in or not?"

I resolutely walk towards him and in the door.

Up the stairs to his flat, standing, frozen to the spot, doing nothing.

His stare drilling into me, his mind working, he closes the space between us.

Rigid, still with desire and fear, my eyes never leave his face.

I take my hand up to his jaw, pull him to me and kiss those bow lips, the lips I've wanted to taste again.

Mouths working open, tongues sliding, teeth gnashing.

He turns, runs to the bedroom and I follow, taking off jacket and shirt along the way, scattering them on the floor.

Clothes off we tumble onto the bed, I kiss the length of his body, nipping and sucking.

I hear gasping, soft cries, as I grasp his cock in my mouth.

I'm so hard I feel any movement against my cock, and I'll come.

Sensing that, Sherlock pulls me up on top of him and we rock together.

          "Yes, yes, God yes, make it happen. Make me come, Sherlock."

Our breaths twine together, lips sucking, cocks rubbing together.

It seems like the earth shakes, the world turns white, and my mind crumbles.

All of my body vibrates, screaming as the release I wanted for so long comes to be.

* * *

Sherlock follows me soon after.

* * *

We lay there, side by side, the stickiness of our after love drying.

* * *

          " Sherlock are you sorry this happened?"

          "No, why should I be? Other men have preyed on my body."

With a jerk, I sit up on my elbow to look him in the face!

          "Do you think that's what this is? Do you think I'm other men?"

I'm indignant, feeling the fool.

* * *

          "You've told me by your body language for months now. It's sex, Greg, that's all it is."

          "No, no it's not. Can't be."

A sigh escapes his lips, his face turns to the side away from me.

          "Tell me you love me. Tell me you want to leave Carol, move in with me."

Turning again to stare at me with accusing eyes.

* * *

          " Go ahead, tell me."

Lying back down, staring at the ceiling. What now Greg? 

What do you tell this youngster whos been assaulted in body and mind so much.

* * *

          "The truth is, Sherlock, I don't know. I am leaving Carol, that is a given."

          " That's an honest answer. One I have to ponder on. Do you want to stay the night? "

          " Yes, I want to. Not only to have more sex but to cuddle with you. To hold you. Is that okay?"

He's sitting up, staring down at me as I continue my thought.

          "Or, I should ask the same question you asked me. Do you want me to move in with you?" Are you in love with me?"

* * *

Now he's on his elbow scanning my face.

          " Here's the truth of it. I've wished for this very moment to happen. I wasn't sure because of our age difference and you are spoken for. I'd give it a try if you will."

* * *

          "Sherlock, nothing is guaranteed. Let's have a go at it."


End file.
